"No," persisted Susan. "But I mean, Miss, won't he be disappointed?"
"You can't help that. You might as well say that he's disappointed because you don't pack your box and go straight off to Ruddington Towers."
Susan was unconvinced.
"What did you say yourself, Susan, last week? Didn't you say that it wouldn't be good for him to throw yourself at his head?"
When Susan first used it, the expression had irritated me; but it came in handily. Susan, however, thought otherwise. A spirit of revolt entered her soul, and I perceived the beginnings of her new pout.
"Do as you like, Susan, of course," I said. "It's your affair, not mine. But don't go and make another muddle as you did with Mr. John Lamb."
It went home. Indeed, I'm not sure that Mr. John Lamb wasn't, so to speak, a wolf with a silver lining. The merest whisper of his soft and innocent name is enough to scare Susan into the extreme of docility.
"Oh, no, Miss!" she said hurriedly. "The letter's beautiful. But don't you think...?"
"What?"
"Don't you think, Miss, it would be nice to ask for his photograph and a lock of his hair?"